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by Francis Story
The Siamese army sergeant was a small, wiry man with rugged features
and nothing remarkable about him except the large disfiguring birthmark,
a capillary naevus, which spread from above his left ear towards the
base of the skull. The dark red, puckered skin, on which no hair grew,
looked like clotted blood. I met him at the Military Camp at Surin,
central Thailand, in 1963, when I was investigating the case of a
Buddhist monk who was said to remember his previous life. The sergeant,
Thiang San Kla, was sent to me by his company commander, Capt. Nit
Vallasiri, as another example of a man who remembered his former life.
Cases of persons who believe that they can remember having lived before
are not unknown in the West, but in the East they are much more common.
This is to be expected, for ordinarily we recall most easily the things
we are predisposed to remember, and the influence of Buddhism and
Hinduism creates a favourable atmosphere for this kind of memory. In
Western societies, children who create so-called fantasy worlds usually
are discouraged at the outset. But in Asia a child’s mental creations
are taken seriously as possible memories of a former life, particularly
if they seem to contain material outside the child’s normal range of
knowledge. Recently some of these claims have been investigated by
Western parapsychologists. During the past eighteen years, which I
have spent in various Asian countries, I have come across a number of
such spontaneous cases, mostly in India, Burma, Thailand, and Ceylon.
They seemed to me worth methodical investigation, but only recently,
thanks to financial backing from the Parapsychology Research Fund of the
University of Virginia, have I been able to make detailed on-the-spot
studies of them. The case of Sgt. Thiang belongs to a most
interesting category, that in which birthmarks or congenital deformities
correspond to injuries remembered to have been sustained in the
previous life. Briefly, this is his story: Born in October 1924 at
Ru Sai village, Surin Province, he had marks resembling tattooing on
both hands and feet, in addition to the birthmark on his head. Also, his
right big toe was slightly deformed, with a thickened nail and skin
puckered like scar tissue. At the age of about four he told his
parents, in halting, childish speech, that he was his father’s brother
reborn, and that he remembered perfectly his previous life and death. He
insisted that his real name was “Mr. Phoh,” and became angry when
people addressed him as “A-pong” (Baby). Phoh had been the name of his
father’s brother, who had died in July 1924, three months before
Thiang’s birth. As soon as he could talk, Thiang related to his parents
all the most important incidents of Phoh’s life. He had been wrongly
suspected of cattle stealing and was set upon by some villagers. One of
them threw a knife at close range and it penetrated his skull, causing
almost instantaneous death. The stabbing was at the exact spot where
Thiang’s capillary naevus is situated and its position corresponds to
the downward motion of the blade as it struck. For several months
before his death, Phoh had been suffering from a suppurating wound on
his right big toe, and he had “protective” tattooings (magical symbols
believed to give immunity from weapons) on both hands and feet, in the
same places as the congenital markings now appear on the hands and feet
of Thiang. Thiang remembered seeing his own body lying on the
ground, and wanting to return to it. But it was surrounded by people,
and he was afraid to approach. He saw the blood oozing from the wound.
His description of this part of his after-death experience is
reminiscent of the accounts given by people who have had experiences of
being “out of the body” while under anaesthetics or at the critical
point of an illness. In his disembodied form he then visited all his
relations and friends, but felt grieved that they could not see him. He
thought of his brother with affection, and wanted to be with him. At
once he found himself in his brother’s house. There he felt in some
way drawn to his brother’s wife, who was having her breakfast. She was
pregnant, and in Thiang’s own words he felt himself irresistibly
impelled to enter her body. During the remaining months of her pregnancy
he retained his consciousness, being aware sometimes of being outside
her body. Later when he told his mother this, she remembered that before
his birth she had a dream in which her husband’s brother, Phoh,
appeared to her saying that he wanted to be reborn as her child.
Thiang’s father died about two months after the child began to talk, but
he had heard enough to convince him that the little boy was indeed his
brother returned from the grave. Not only had he related events of
Phoh’s life which were known to them but had related things they did not
know but had been able to verify from others. He knew the names of all
the members of both families, and was able to recognize and identify the
deceased Phoh’s friends. When he was about fifteen, Thiang’s mother
died. He was then placed in the care of an uncle, who ordered him not
to talk about his previous life. When the boy disobeyed him he punished
him by inflicting burns on his chest. Opening his shirt, Sgt. Thiang
showed two scars where he had been burned in this way. The late Mr.
Phoh, who had been about forty at the time of his murder, had a wife,
Pai, who died in 1962 at the age of 76. When Thiang was about five years
old she came from her home in the village of Ar Vud, where Phoh had
been living and where he had met his death, to find out whether the
stories she had heard of Thiang being her husband reborn were true. Ar
Vud is approximately 25 km from Thiang’s birthplace, Ru Sai, and even
today there is not much communication between the two places. She
brought with her a number of articles that had belonged to her late
husband, mixed up with other things. Thiang easily identified the
objects that had belonged to him when he was Phoh; he also proved his
identity to her by relating intimate matters of their family life. When
Pai became convinced that her husband indeed was reborn she became a
Buddhist nun. She felt that as she was not a married woman, yet could
not consider herself a widow, she had no alternative. Thiang showed me a
photograph of her in nun’s robes which he evidently cherished. Two
witnesses to the story, which was well known all over the neighbourhood,
had come along with Sgt. Thiang to see me. One was Sgt. Manoon
Rungreung, of the same army division. He said that he had been familiar
with this story of Phoh and his rebirth from childhood, and was
convinced of its truth. Physically there was no resemblance between Phoh
and Thiang, he said; Phoh had been “tall, fair, and handsome,” whereas
Thiang is the reverse. The second witness was a man of 72, Nai
Pramaun, of the Municipality Office, Surin. He had been formerly
Assistant District Officer, and was a young man at the time of Phoh’s
murder. He had known the late Phoh, and had known Thiang from childhood.
He told me Phoh actually was a cattle-thief and a notorious character
in his lifetime. Nai Pramaun had investigated the case of the cattle
theft and the murder in the course of his duties. On hearing the rumours
concerning the rebirth of Phoh he had gone to see the child who was
then between four and five years old. Thiang had recognized him and had
addressed him by his name. He also had given correctly all the names of
the people concerned in the affair. Nai Pramaun had examined the
birthmarks and found they corresponded exactly with Phoh’s death wound
and with the other marks he had had on his body. He found also that
Thiang remembered the man who had killed him, a villager named Chang,
and wanted to take revenge. Fortunately, Thiang never met Chang, who
died while he was still a boy. Nai Pramaun confirmed all the other facts
of the case as being precisely as Thiang had related them. He added
that the story is well known throughout the district and nobody doubts
it. The interesting feature of the man’s evidence was that it
completely demolished poor Thiang’s attempt to whitewash the character
of his previous personality, who according to his version had been
“wrongly suspected” of cattle stealing. Nai Pramaun, despite his age,
appeared to be vigorous and alert, with a clear memory. He gave his
evidence with assurance, replying promptly to all my questions. He was
obviously a good type of old-time provincial government officer, a man
thoroughly reliable and accustomed to responsibility. The day
following my interview with Sgt. Thiang, I had a visit from Capt. Nit
Vallasiri, Company Commander, C Company, Military Camp, Surin. He had
come to volunteer further information and to learn my opinion of the
case. He said that he had long been familiar with the story of Sgt.
Thiang’s previous life and confirmed everything I had already been told.
He added that some years ago Sgt. Thiang had laid claim to some land
adjacent to the army camp, on the grounds that it had belonged to him in
his previous life as Phoh. He gave up the claim only on being assured
that no court would uphold it. This incident had earned Thiang the army
nickname of “The Landlord,” by which he is known to everyone. It appears
that he had recognized the land as having belonged to him when he was
Phoh, without being informed of this fact and, in making his claim to
it, he had given correctly the circumstances in which Phoh had acquired
it. Asked about Thiang’s character and intelligence, Capt. Nit
Vallasiri said he was emotionally stable, a good soldier, and had shown a
high level of intelligence in army tests. His ambition and intent were
to take his discharge from the Royal Thai Army and take up the post of
headman of his village. I investigated this case on January 22–24,
1963, at Changwad Surin, and my interpreter was Dr. Thavil Soon
Tharaksa, Provincial Health Officer of Surin District. Two American
Peace Corps workers then stationed in the locality were present during
the interviews by my invitation. This very pleasant young couple
afterwards confessed that Thailand had given them a new and utterly
unexpected experience. The transference of physical marks from one
body to another in the process of rebirth—or rather their reproduction
in a new body—is a recurring feature of many of these cases. It can be
explained, I think, only on the assumption that there is a psychosomatic
interaction brought about by a strong mental impression during the
previous life or at the time of death. It seems to belong to the same
order of mind-body relationships that can cause a weal to appear on the
arm of a hypnotized person who, being told he is going to be burned,
then is touched with a cold object. Thus, apart from the question of
survival, the scientific study of cases of persons who claim to remember
previous lives suggests the alluring possibility that by this means we
may be able to throw more light on a subject of great importance in the
treatment of disease—the connection between the psychic and physical
aspects of personality.